


What are you smiling about?

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Possessive Oswald Cobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: Oswald has special hidden rooms in his basement.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	What are you smiling about?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still deciding whether or not this will turn into a longer chaptered fic, but for now, enjoy this one-shot. Set after s3.

“What can I do for you gentlemen at this late hour? A night cap, perhaps?” Oswald asks, all stilted politeness as the GCPD stream into the mansion.

“Cram it, Penguin, we have a warrant,” Harvey sneers, shoving past. “We know that gang used your place as an escape route.”

Jim is slow to follow, glancing at Oswald’s stony expression with unease. Unlike his usual greasy bravado, the mob boss seemed tense, and that, more than the possibility of the renegade gang waiting for them in the bowels of the mansion, or even Zsasz and his guns waiting behind any corner with his girls, worried Jim. For all their issues in the past, Jim had always been fairly certain where he stood with Oswald. Now, after Fish’s death and the trade-off for Tetch, Jim isn’t so sure he knows Oswald as well as he used to. There was something unhinged now, something fearless and brazen in Gotham's King of Crime that set Jim's teeth on edge.

Ahead of him, Jim can hear Harvey swearing as he clatters down the spiral staircase, yelling angrily at Penguin as though his house was built just as dangerously as the man himself. Oswald's pleasant reply is tinged with a frosty bite. Jim is glad for the darkness masking him as he thumbs off the safety on his gun, quietly descending into the lower levels after them. The gloom doesn’t seem to bother Oswald, his cane clicking steadily as he descends the stairs after Harvey. Jim watches that stopped back, adrenaline spiking at being unable to see Oswald's face. He prefers Oswald's face, can see his clever mind shining through those eyes. Or he did. Now, Oswald is a cold mask, a distant figure busy cleaning up Gotham in his own way. This is the first real time in months that they had been in the same room, and Oswald hadn't even glanced his way. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and Jim knows full well that Oswald is happy to plan out his revenge, close the trap around his enemies heads slowly, and destroying them when they least expect it. Honestly, Jim had been expecting the retaliation, half hoping for for Oswald's revenge. He could blame it on the Virus, on the heat of the fight, but in the end, he'd still taken a life, still killed Fish on pure instinct when there had been no need, and the guilt gnaws a him that he hadn't been punished for it. He hadn't seen Oswald since the incident, but he's no fool. He'd noticed the men trailing him, heard the click of a camera as he left the GCPD, entered his home. But Oswald had yet to make any move and now, now Jim wasn't so sure he wouldn't simply pull a gun and shoot Jim right in front of the GCPD. Jim shivers at the stray thought. It had been a long time since he had felt genuine fear around Oswald.

Heart thundering in his ears, Jim reaches the lower level, a hallway of doors and archways that disappear into the gloom. The gas lamps that light the hallway bathe everything in an eerie glow.

Harvey is still chattering away somewhere ahead of him, Harper’s placating voice accompanying the thumps and crashes as the raid continues. In the gloom of the hallway, Oswald stands motionless, cane gripped in his hands and head tilted towards the noise. Pushing down his screaming instincts, Jim steps in close. When that elicits no response, Jim swallows and slowly, carefully, holsters his gun. Like a true gangster, Oswald’s head whips around at the motion, wariness melting into surprise as he takes in Jim’s deferential posture.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jim says, nodding towards the echoing crashes down the hall.

Oswald’s lip curls, eyes glittering. “Not going to join in ransacking my home?” he hisses, and Jim winces again at the undisguised coldness.

“We need these criminals found quickly, Oswald, it’s nothing personal,” Jim replies, voice pitched lower, soothing.

“It’s never personal with _you_ , Jim,” Oswald snipes back, and Jim blinks in surprise at the sulking tone.

“There shouldn’t be a problem if you aren’t hiding the gang, Oswald. The warrant is just for them, we’re not here for you,” Jim says carefully, trying to gauge if the expected anger was simply hidden beneath the surface, but Oswald dismissively shrugs, still pouting.

Jim blinks again, still surprised at the lack of anger. Oswald was acting... well, _normal_. The same playful glibness he always had, as though Jim was a child, a friend who never played the games Oswald wanted to play. He knows if he joins Harvey and walks away from Oswald, it would incense him further, break whatever leniency he had decided to grant Jim, and more than anything, Jim worries there will be steeper consequences if he turned his back on Oswald now. He sighs and shifts, pretending to scan the hallway to disguise that he means to stay by Oswald's side and wait, knowing how much Oswald disliked being monitored. Shuffling closer to the wall, Jim runs a hand along the hallway, feeling the grooves around the doorways for hidden hinges or switches. He frowns when he finds none, stepping back to look over the doors that line the walls. Each one is solid steel, small glass window in each with a little locked hatch just below it. He raps his knuckles against the door, and the thick brick swallows the sound as the door doesn’t even echo with the sound. He glances down the hallway again, noting the uniform placement of the doors. Like cells. The fine hairs on Jim’s neck stand on end. He doesn’t want to ask, but…

“There’s no handle on these doors. How do they open?”

“Do you want to see inside?” Oswald’s voice is silky as he comes up beside Jim.

It’s common sense not to ask. Whatever Oswald is to Jim, whatever help he’s given in the past, he is still a gangster, and cops know as easy as breathing not to go poking around gangsters personal business unless they know what they’re doing. But in this creepy old mansion with the gloomy hallways and Oswald’s strange friendliness, Jim’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“Just tell me what the rooms are for.”

Oswald straightens out of his usual stooped posture, tilting his head back so he and Jim are nearly eye to eye. And instantly, the hardness melts off his face and the smile Jim hadn’t seen since before Blackgate returns, the soft radiant smile that seemed to be just for Jim. It peels off years from Oswald’s face, the cold mask borne of the constant betrayals and cruelty smoothing into the soft and pleading Oswald from the dock, the sweet, friendly Oswald who wanted nothing more than Jim to come to the opening of his club. The dangerous Oswald who looked so very gentle and reasonable that Jim would always forget the monster lurking underneath, ready to destroy the city so long as he remained king of whatever remained.

“These rooms?” Oswald shrugs innocently. “They’re just storage rooms, I’m afraid. Full of files and furniture and other such… items. I have quite a lot of valuables, you see, and, well… you know how criminals are in Gotham, Jim. Can’t trust them not to kill you over a sandwich if they were in the mood for a bite to eat. So I had these rooms specially made from the old bomb shelter. Bullet proof, soundproof, completely secure and engineered to conceal all the contents from being visible or audible from the outside. And of course, only I know how to open them.”

“For storage,” Jim repeats, doubtfully.

The soft, radiant smile shivers for a split second, a dark ripple passing over Oswald’s face. Jim freezes, recognising that look. He thinks how best to placate him without disturbing that careful balance they had established, dancing around one another without ever giving voice to the way Jim would stand just so that would make that hungry, deadly light spring into Oswald’s eyes.

“Yes,” Oswald says softly, gloved hand coming up to rest against the smooth wall of the hallway. There’s the faintest clicking sound from the door. “These rooms are for storing my most precious things so they can never _ever_ be taken away from me.”

Silent as death, a crack appears as the heavy steel door swings open. Warily, Jim peers into the gloom, dreading what he'll see beyond. There's the shadowed outline of a bed, and dangling from the roof above it... chains. Stupidly, he never thinks to call for help as a hand strikes into his neck and the world explodes into pain as he hears the door swinging back closed with a gentle thump.

Harvey is grumbling loudly into his phone as he stomps back into the hallway, Harper shooing him along as she barks orders into her radio.

“…leaving these cryptic text messages and rushing off without waiting for backup. Jim’s going to give my grey hairs their own grey hairs,” Harvey snipes. “Harper, tell Alvarez to make sure when Detective Gordon arrives back at the GCPD, he _does not_ leave his desk again until we get back. I'm not going to go on a wild goose chase all over the city looking for him.”

Harvey pauses when he catches sight of Oswald, obvious distaste twisting his expression as the gangster learns against one of the many steel doors lining the hallway.

“What are you smiling about, Penguin?”

Oswald raises a single shoulder, slipping a phone back into his suit jacket as he pushed away from the wall to lead them back upstairs. “Nothing at all. Now, if you're quite done ransacking my residence...?"

"You're lucky we didn't find anything _this_ time, Penguin," Harvey growls under his breath, and Oswald grins, looking annoyingly pleased.

"I am indeed blessed at the continuing competence of the GCPD," Oswald says easily.

Harvey frowns at the laughing glint in Oswald's eyes, neck prickling with unease. But with Harper at his back and the expectant looks from the rookies, he turns his mind back to the gang they were tracking, hoping Jim's text meant he'd found a lead.

Oswald's smile widens. "Oh, and be sure to pass my regards along to Detective Gordon when you see him, Bullock. He suddenly left in _such_ a rush.”

Behind them, the hallway remains silent. It’s several hours before anyone even realises Jim Gordon is missing.


End file.
